Anti-Bucket List

Here is my list of things I don't want to do before I die.

1) Be on trial for Murder - I imagine I would be innocent but ask OJ about the stereotyping.

2) Contract an STD - Even though I would be a much livelier party guest with a coke and whores story from Bangkok, I don't think it's worth it.

3) Be mauled by any woodland creature - If it was a big woodland creature (like a bear) it would hurt. If it was a small woodland creature it would be embarrassing. I wouldn't want to wet myself and pass out every time a child came dressed as a chipmunk on Halloween.

4) Be kicked in the business by any farmland creature - If it was a big farmland creature (like a horse) it would hurt. If it was a small farmland creature like a gosling it would raise questions as to why my business was within kicking range of a gosling.

5) Be on trial for inappropriate conduct around small farmland creatures - OJ can still get dates. Good luck, being the only person on the small farmland animal sex offender website.

If I can avoid these five I will be off to a good start.

Barnes & Noble is my Crack House

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT WANT BARNES & NOBLES AS A SPONSOR. They would just find me one day naked, twitching, in a book tepee, sniffing pages.

I can't leave that place without buying at least 3 books and I would buy 17 if I could only dedicate a larger part of my day to reading. I am not a reader of extraordinary skill, speed, or comprehension, but I read books. And I really like to buy books to read. I NEED TO OWN THEM. The library is not my Crack Palace. It does not take hold of me like the bookstore.

I wish I could lick the books at the checkout for a discount and to claim them as mine (perhaps I'll try).

"This book has been salivated. Is there a discount for that?"

"How do you know it was salivated?"

"These moist streaks on the front here."

"Those look fresh."

"I did see a woman with a goat."

"I'm sorry sir, but you are going to have to pay for that."

It was worth a shot. Licking is one thing, but I would certainly not even attempt to pee on the non-fiction, as that would soil my precious.

I do read everything I buy. I don't dog ear to mark pages. I like my books to remain as pure as can be. I don't highlight in them. I never highlighted books in college (and I was there awhile). Collecting degrees, not being a dumb-ass.

I rarely reread anything. Highlighting for me is like putting table scraps in a Ziploc before throwing them away. There is no need to give the extra food or passages of text special treatment when they are not going to be re-consumed. They need to look as healthy as possible on my trophy case. My conquests.

Asking Barnes & Nobles to be a sponsor is like asking Jack Daniel's to sponsor an AA meeting by providing the refreshment. Barnes & Nobles: "Please just stay away for the childrens' sake, think of the children."

Why Women have to multi-task

Because they make more work for themselves.

Issue 1: Putting Laundry Away

Man - Clean goes in drawer. Elapsed time = 2 sec.

Woman - Clean goes in, in reverse order of wearing (most recent on bottom), and under the clean clothes currently residing in drawer. Elapsed time = > 2 sec.

In this scenario, me = man, Christa = woman. I don't know how universally applicable this is, but me = man is not keeping track of clothing wear cycles. I do know when I have worn the same clothes for multiple days in a row because they start to smell (see Misplaced Stuff).

Less of an idiot today

Yesterday (early December 2008), I was waiting for the bus and I watched a young man (maybe 22) walk by who appeared cold. He was in jeans and a sweatshirt. It was 32 F and felt like 24. I imagine most might feel cold in this weather. As he passed I noticed an unusual sound was rising from the ground. I looked down to notice he was in flip flops. YOU IDIOT!

A much older and wiser man like myself knows that you need to wear socks with your flip flops when it is cold out. I am ready for shuffleboard at the retirement home recreation center TODAY. I have no issue wearing shorts, dark socks and sandals in public. Now, what I don't know is if I will buck the trend when I am 80 and wear baggy jeans and a grill, or be so advanced that I am wearing the style of a 130 year-old with my belt lashed tightly around my nipples pulling the pant cuff up to my knees, showing unmatched calf-length argyle socks and wearing glasses with lenses the size of ashtrays.

Now, I shouldn't be as harsh on this young man as I was once nearly as dumb as he. My typical goal during college was to see how late into the fall I could continue wearing shorts. I was in St. Louis so you can gauge the climate, but I would usually break within a week or so of Thanksgiving break as I had a 10-12 minutes walk to class, wore boxers, and updrafts would (I have to remember the rules) dehydrate the fruit so to speak. Why did I waste all my immunity when I was young? I'm an idiot too.

How many other dumb things have I done? Given that I am 12,000-and-change days old, idiocy comes in streaks, and alcohol has lowered my mental preventative systems too many times to count, I would guess 13,458,382. A little over a thousand a day, or just under one a minute. There are times when I will go up to 8, even 12 minutes between episodes, but I must consider there were moments where I probably racked up 5,000 to 10,000 in under an hour.

Say for example, when I went on an hour-long shrubbery-tackling streak, every split second after it started was a chance to stop tackling shrubbery and cease the idiocy, but it went on for an hour and many innocent shrubs lost all or a portion of their root system. I believe the biggest shrub ever successfully tackled was a seven-foot pine. It was recently planted. Not that that fact lessens the non-earth-friendliness of it, but I don't want to overstate my tackling prowess.

Being a frequent idiot myself, I am more able to recognize the idiocy of others. And let me tell you, IT IS EVERYWHERE! Go anywhere in public, sit down, look at the person on your left and then your right, odds are one of them has done in the last hour, or is thinking of doing, something even more stupid (stupider if you prefer) than what you just did, so don't beat yourself up (another form on idiocy). In fact, pick yourself up, head to Skyline and prove you were right when you said competitive eating was easy and would get you chicks.

E Speak: Blue Heat

September 12, 2008

Do I know how to work the camera?

Does a four-legged donkey know how to walk?

Does a two-legged giraffe still have a long neck?

Does a one-legged dog still enjoy licking himself?

Does a no-legged fish want a running shoe endorsement deal?

A resounding quintuple YES!

I call this one Blue Heat. It feels like you just put Icy Hot directly on your brain, doesn't it?





















The Sizzler,
E

College Prep

December 3, 2008

I think going to college is important. So important, I went three times. I have decided to put Emmy on the college track. I haven't hired a tutor. I haven't applied early bird to Berkeley. I do not recite the periodic table to her. No. I have begun teaching her the survival skills needed to get to her future diploma.

Step one: Order a pizza.
Step two: Practice rolling your own with a pepperoni.




















Step three: Realize practice has made you hungry and enjoy pizza while watching TV. Skipping the utensils, plates and general decorum.















Step four: Bet your friend you can finish all the pepperoni.















Step five: Lay around waiting for the boot and rally, wishing mid-terms weren't tomorrow.

The Legend of Corn-Fu

If I owned a farm, I would grow things. My very basic understanding of farming tells me that is what you do on a farm. I would rotate corn and soybeans. Crop rotation is a more advanced farming topic, I believe it helps the soil retain more of its bodily essence. I would then setup a tofu production facility. I would then learn how to make a tofu-like foodstuff from corn. I would copyright and trademark the name Corn-Fu. Maybe also Korn-Fu and license music from the band for promotion purposes.

Next, I would contract a Japanese animation team to create a cartoon based on The Adventures of Corn-Fu. Corn-Fu would be a master of some version of martial arts, Kung-Fu would be the most obvious candidate. To-Fu would be his older and wiser skill master. Corn-Fu would have a sidekick named Sprout, an alfalfa sprout that moves like a snake with its head up and can beam some form of a fat-dissolving pulsar from his head. Corn-Fu would travel by motorcycle sidecar, driven by To-Fu's larger cousin To-Furkey. To-Furkey would have no special skills besides his Yo-Yo of Death.

Corn-Fu could have a sworn enemy, Ethan Ol who ransacked Corn-Fu's peaceful childhood village in a thirst for power. Ethan Ol wrongfully resurrects Corn-Fu's people as high fructose zombies taking many sinister forms. There would be numerous carnage- and chaos-filled battles. Demand for my trademarked and copyrighted Corn-Fu would skyrocket.

Celebs would wear Corn-Fu t-shirts. Merchandise sales would take-off.

"Who's Fu are U?" campaign would begin. Corn-Fu's signature facial hair would be the new Milk mustache.

"There nothing like being Fu'ed for the first time." Product trial accelerates.

"To Fu or not To Fu, that is the question." Communities organize local Fu Fests.

"Go Fu yourself, or a friend, neighbor or complete stranger." Global Fu sales overtake global meat and Cheetos sales combined.

Spontaneous F-U chants heard at sporting events, grocery stores and elementary school cafeterias. Global hunger is ended. U2 sings a song about it. Then changes its name to F-U2, and outsells the entire automotive industry. And you were there to witness it all.

E Speak: Charades

December 6, 2008

"Emmy, do you want to play a game?"

Whatever Dada.

"Guess what I am?"

Fire away.

"Oh-OH, ah-AH" (chest thump with fist)

A man. What are you? 12? My turn.





















"You're a bread monster."

No.

"A baguette monster."

No.

"Hungry?"

Kenny G, you IDIOT. Could it be any MORE obvious? You are 12, but mentally like 2. I would have also accepted didgeridoo player. Even Recorbo, the elephant whose trunk is also a recorder. Hungry isn't even a guess. It's your mailing address in Idiotville.

Still Champion,
E

Children's Museum

Sept 13th, 2008

Here is a trip we took to the Children's Museum in Cincinnati. E enjoyed the water features, but had to wear a "community raincoat" that smelled like musty sea turtles. It wasn't like we picked the bad one, they all smelled. All smelled like musty sea turtles.















There are several activity areas in the museum and E enjoyed the plastic, steerable, immovable objects. I hope for great things for The Biscuit (nickname, one of dozens), but from this picture I can only get Lawn Care Professional.




















Or maybe a golf cart driving instructor. Lastly, I don't know how or why, but I feel like she is "Sweatin' to the Oldies" with Richard Simmons in this shot.















I don't know what Richard is up to these days, but it wouldn't surprise me if he was teaching an early morning aerobics class to sea turtles wearing raincoats at the Cincinnati Children's Museum.

E Speak: Stink Eye

I have been working on my stink eye. It is pretty ferocious. I don't know what it is for.





















Grrr,
E

Tinkle Queen

Big Baby E likes to take baths. Baths get her excited. By the time she is down to only the diaper she is clinging to you like an iron-grip koala desiring transport to the bathing facility. Once the tub is ready, we proceed to remove her diaper with a bit of ceremony. I think we started to add a little extra to make the bath more exciting in the beginning, but now it is just a part of the routine.

For the ceremony, I sit on the toilet holding her under the arms, standing, facing away from me and start the song. Da-NA-na-NA-na-NA, t-tsch...t-tsch. Yes, I am teaching my daughter to strip to music; seductive music. Maybe not teaching, but at least creating an association with "fun times ahead." Is it ever too early to discourage a career in the broadly-defined "adult entertainment" industry? I am an adult by age and am entertained by this.

Yesterday, she was indeed very excited about bath time. As Christa held the freshly removed diaper cupped in her hand, the Squirt Burger laid one on me. I don't claim to understand much of the inner workings of the female parts, but I am always impressed by the specific directionality of the flow. This one shot right to my inner thigh, a good three seconds.

My first thought was "Squeeze your legs together." WHAT!? Why was I trying to protect the tiled bathroom floor? Why was I SO OK with being peed on that I wanted to keep as much of the pee as possible between my legs? This was not just a fact of parenthood. This was me trying to turn my legs into a watertight flesh cup to retain as much urine on and about my person as possible. The urine was not providing relief from a jellyfish sting. It was simply pee on me. And I apparently wanted to keep it that way.

I wish I could say it was out of love, but it makes more sense that I love the tile floor in that scenario, since E would more than likely have stepped in my pee pond had the retaining walls held another couple seconds. And desiring your child to step in a urine pond is not very loving.

Dr. Pepper Part Deux (Pre-Historic #2)

Here is the other historic post from October 2006.

(Action)

How many flavors in a Dr. Pepper?

As I enjoyed my lunch today, I glanced at my beverage of choice this day, which like most days was Dr. Pepper. On the can was a graphic stating it contained 23 flavors. 23? They have made this a selling point in their TV campaigns. Why? Dr. Pepper has one flavor, and that flavor is "Tasty." Ice cream shops have 23 flavors, the whole shop, not each ice cream. If pressed I would have considered Dr. Pepper a version of a black cherry soda with a subtle tweak of something. No wine claims more than five flavors, notes and finishes, but Dr. Pepper goes with 23.

What could these 23 be? According to the can they are all "artificial." I think this is a chemist's way to say "beyond comprehension of human taste buds." Name a fruit, vegetable or spice and it is probably in there. Say my uneducated assumption of black cherry is present. Add blackberry, raspberry, plum, grape, cantaloupe and mango. I am at seven. I would say caramel, but the label says only caramel color is a part of this concoction. Since it is called Dr. "Pepper" I will assume there are some peppers in it. Green, red, jalapeño and three other undisclosed exotic varieties. I'm at 13. Only ten left. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cilantro, parsley, just a hint.

Only six left, since it is "Doctor" Pepper maybe something from the apothecary. Yes apothecary, since the can clearly states "Est. 1885." And an apothecary in Texas no less. Swamp juice, prairie dust and ground armadillo shell. If we consider the Texas well water as having an innate flavor, I am going to guess the flavor master probably spat tobacco juice and urinated in the barrel to top off the brew.

Now that I have devised the component flavors of my loose meat sandwich accompaniment of choice, who would actually want to drink it? Not many I assume. So, I ask why not cut to the chase. Advertising 23 flavors does not make me believe the Messiah of carbonated beverages resided in Waco in the late 1800's and his gift to the world was Dr. Pepper. It makes me believe somebody was trying to home brew a varnish remover and forced "Slow Cousin Enos" to drink it and much to the his surprise, Enos loved it.

In summary, 23 bad, "Tasty" good. Let's leave it a mystery.

Thank you for your time.

(And scene)

Again not too bad. Obviously the 23 flavors of Dr. Pepper has occupied what would otherwise be valuable brain space for quite some time.

Pre-Historic First Blog Entry

You thought I was going to type something like, "Me Like Rocks." But instead I provide a little nostalgia. I attempted to start a blog in October 2006, I made it to 2 posts. So, I guess I did actually start one, it just ended really fast. Here is the historic first entry including the warning label.

(Action)

Warning: Past performance is no indication of future results. Consult your physician before reading while operating machinery, if pregnant, or in the midst of a homicidal rage.

As the first entry in my blog I feel it should be significant in some way. Unfortunately no one has suffered any hardship to bring you this blog, so I can't play on your sympathies. This blog has no business plan, no desire for global domination or even local change. I have no intention or aptitude to cure disease. I have no otherworldly abilities or relationships to speak of. I have not mastered the English language and it is essentially the first and only language I've tried.

Having just reread the opening paragraph, I think a readership goal of 3 is reasonable. The benefits of readership will be limited. There will be no prizes given away. Rarely will you leave feeling smarter, at least not from knowledge gained, but perhaps relatively speaking.

Now that I have floored expectations, and sold my abilities and the benefits of reading, we can begin.

(And scene)

I don't think that was too bad. Fortunately, I have come up with a business plan to come up with bad business plans for my second try.

Generation E

Copyright it. Trademark it. Sell it on a t-shirt. Create new business lingo, write a book and make coin on a speaking tour.

November 30th, 2008

Here we sit at the computer. E is about 14 1/2 months, already seeking an IM buddy with shared interests in dishwashers, lip balms and snail mail retrieval. She can already seemingly mindlessly pound the keyboard and turn on functions I didn't even know existed. I am stuck right near the border of Gen X and Y depending on who you talk to and find I don't need a cell phone, but have one just in case. But Generation E will have digital lunch boxes capable of making micro-loans to other Gen E'ers in a vast network of cookie-denominated virtual playgrounds. And the E-Biscuit will lead them.

Look at her. She is actually using both the right and left mouse buttons simultaneously with a SINGLE FINGER! I am neither single nor this coordinated.














As a part of the Dada pledge, I will try and provide guidance and encouragement throughout her life, but I feel I might be doing so blindly in a matter of months as she will soon be e-vanced (not nearly as good as Generation E) beyond my abilities to comprehend. I love you E-Burgers, let me know when the spaceship is coming.

E Speak: T-Day #2

Saturday Nov 29th, 2008 (Oh yea, I can do dates.)

We had another Thanksgiving. This time with Dada's (Lloyd) side. This time in MY HOUSE! Again, people eating and looking at me. But this time there was a different one, Harrison, my cousin. He is like a less-nimble, less-furry version of Mr. Puddy. Mr. Puddy is the cat. Mr. Puddy is sometimes entertaining, but far from useful. Mr Puddy can manage to get off the floor by himself. I can't say the same for Harrison, currently.














We all sat down at the table and since he can't move as well, just stared at his Dada (Matt, younger brother of my Dada) wondering "What in the hell do I hear breathing behind me?"















It is I. The Smoochie Monster.














"Dada spin me around for a look at this thing," he said. "Holy Jesus! It's huge. But I like it."














He then tried to get fresh with me. Warning: Mature content.














You can't out smoochie THE SMOOCHIE MONSTER! He seemed a little alarmed by my confidence and assertiveness.















He then tried to impress me by being held vertically. Unfortunately, been there, done that.














Anything else kiddo? Then he did the best penguin impression I have ever seen. I went for the high five, but he held character. A man of principle. Very noble. Knightly even.















Then he said, "Try and get this face out of your mind."















I am thankful for your intensity, Harrison and for Nana, Pop, Unkie Matt and Auntie Danza for visiting.

Until we meet again,
E

Deserted Island

What would be the one thing I would want with me if I were stranded on a deserted island?

A fully-fueled and staffed airplane capable of taking off on or near the deserted island.

Oh, I should have said "my family." No. 1) Neither Christa or E float well enough to be bound by palm fronds and paddled to safety. 2) Neither goes by the alias "MacGyver." 3) I love them dearly, but after a couple weeks they are going to start looking tasty. And no one wants to be chewing on baby feet when the Coast Guard arrives.

If it was a nice enough island, I would want 1) afore-mentioned plane, 2) complete food supply chain including preparers, 3) fully-functional hospital with celebrity residence wing, and 4) my family.

Coming in at 3724) My favorite book, unless it was "How to construct and staff a fully-fueled jump jet in 24 hours with stuff you can find on your own deserted island." Which would make an excellent DVD set. Order now and I will throw "How to make a human life raft" for no extra charge.

974159) My favorite DVD. What would I do with it? Reflect the sun to toast insects or momentarily blind sea creatures to eat. All the neighboring natives would find is "Dead man with shiny trinket."

Who am I kidding? My day-glow white Welsh accountant flesh would be glowing red like Rudolph's nose by nightfall. NASA would pick me up with thermal imaging and send the Navy thinking I was a tropical Yeti.

E Speak:T-Day #1

My Thanksgiving consisted of two Thanksgivings, one with each half of the family. The Mama (Norris) half went first on Thursday. What is Thanksgiving you ask? I don't know. It seems like another day where other people want to watch me eat and make me self-conscious.

We went to Aunt Angie's boyfriend Mike's house. I traveled in my monkey suit, literally. It's blue, one-piece, and has a monkey on it.

What am I thankful for? Grapes - seedless, quartered and served on a plate no higher than 27".




















Next, Dada went and rearranged Mike's living room furniture so we could attempt a mock, homey family photo supposedly for our Christmas cards. If you want to make yourself a welcome guest, go ahead and just move some furniture around.
















Then I got to put on my T-Day outfit. And work it. Fortunately, Mike had a nice stretch of hardwood in his kitchen that I could strut my stuff on. My starting rate is $4.25/half hour plus grapes.




















I gave myself a tour of the staircase. It looks like a futuristic, Asian-inspired prison, but since it wasn't I was happy to see the inside.




















Grammy asked me if I had been good this year. I looked at Mama, secretly pleading "Please don't blow this for me." She winked.

"Absolutely, she's been an angel."















You don't believe her? Well, I will let two people hold me for at least 8 seconds, breaking my personal record by 3 seconds, AND I will allow documentation.

First up, Grampy.





















17 seconds! A new record. As you can tell by her elbow, Mama was only a foot away. Next up, Aunt Angie.





















13 seconds, not as good as Grampy, but Mama backed all the way out of the frame. I watched her closely for signs of imminent departure.

You may have noticed I keep a wipe on hand. You never know when you might need to swipe a boogie away to maintain your lady-like appearance. Mike didn't seem to get it, so I gave him a personal lesson. He wasn't even using a tissue. Everyone seemed to think this was funny. There is nothing funny about snot danglers or gooey fingers.















I give my thanks to everyone.
E

Blogging Rules

After my last post, I learned that some family rules of blog posts were needed.

The Rules:
1) Any discussion involving body parts needs approval by at least one member of the family older than 4 (age subject to change in 2011).
1a) Body parts will be predominantly described using anatomically correct verbiage.
2) Swearing by any family member under 4 will be kept to a minimum.
3) Critiquing of "wiser" generation's childcare techniques will be attempted to be only medicinal/clinical in nature.
4) Photographs of "no one wants to see that" will not be seen/shown.
5) Any failing business ideas I come up with will be ferociously protected in intellectual property court. If you really want to fail, find your own way to do it.
6) Wooing of sponsorships will be conducted publicly through "business class" blog entires and will not involve discussion of body parts as prohibited by Rule 1 and 1a (sorry mortgage brokers).
7) A full third of quoted text will be reproduced nearly word for word. You can "quote" me on that.
8) Sexual terminology will be kept to a minimum, including made up terms such as the "Canadian Air Mattress."
9) My bowel movements are my own business unless directly questioned under oath in a court of law.
10) I will almost guarantee via virtual hand shake that you will not be offended by every single blog post.

E Speak: You Wean-E, You Suffer

My mom has a nice pair. Here let me show you.

"Emmy we can not take and post pictures of Mama's breasts."

Whatever. You know you'd like a shot of them too. Anyway, they are nourishing and comforting and have always been there for me. Until a few weeks ago, when they started to visit less frequently. I used to get tired and there they were, then I would wake up and there they were again. They were like my two best friends. I named them "Good Morning" and "Good Night". Good Night is on the right. I created a song so it was easier for me not to confuse them.

Good Morning is where the milk is pouring
and is a wonderful start to my day.
Good Night is on the right
I visit when it's time to hit the hay.

I break into it like Michigan J. Frog from Warner Bros. and then quickly revert back to being a baby.
















Well, needless to say this was agitating. Every week my friends would visit one less time. They didn't go on vacation, they just became shut-ins during the day. I would wake up, head over and knock politely, but no one came out to play. I pulled back the shades and looked in and they were certainly still there, but sleeping or something. I poked and grabbed at them and nothing. MAMA I NEED TO PERFORM CPR! I THINK THEY NEED TO BE MANUALLY REVIVED!

"They are hibernating," she said.

THEY ARE NOT FREAKING BEARS!

"Let's just snuggle."

SNUGGLING IS FOR WUSSIES! I got up 30 minutes early so I could see my friends and now ALL I GET IS A SNUGGLE! I AM BOYCOTTING ALL NAPS AND AM GOING TO HOLD MY BREATH UNTIL IT COMES OUT THE OTHER END! YOUR BREASTS WERE BORN FREE JUST LIKE MINE AND I DEMAND YOU SET THEM FREE!

"Why don't we try some big girl milk."

WHY DON'T I THROW MY POO AT YOU!

"Watch Mommy try some."

I've seen what you eat, and that does not boost my confidence. I completely understand the fact that you don't want me to come home from middle school and expect to tap the teet after some Cheetos, but come on! At least trade me some Diet Coke or Starbucks.

"You're a big girl."

Compared to what? The cat? An eggroll? Bigger girl means bigger caloric intake which means more boob time. Try and shoot a hole in that logic Plato. If you're short on time just grab the pump cups and tap them both. I'll use a straw. I'll call it the boob tube. We'll make millions.

"Your father would be proud."

Hell, yea! What was I talking about?

"Saving the planet."

I know you're lying, but I can't produce any evidence to prove it.

Later,
E

Designer Jeans

I love my wife dearly and respect her position on "buy quality" in regards to apparel. I agree in a general sense, but she believes there is a direct relationship between the "prestige" of the brand and the quality of the garment. I feel the prestige of the brand reflects somewhat on the actual quality but only tips the scales when everything else is equal and that you have to pay the manufacturer back for their branding efforts at the register regardless of the actual quality of the merchandise. Admittedly, her definition of quality is more fit and mine is more longevity.

Take Nike vs. New Balance. Nike = $$$, fancy, but seams explode in three months. New Balance = $$, not as fancy, last for at least a year.

I emphasize with her since anytime I visit the ladies half of a store my brain fizzles trying to comprehend the multi-dimensional sizing charts. Yes, you have to actually consider the physical dimensions (of which women's lovely curves add complication to), the interaction of time and dimension (when will the item be worn and what do I expect my dimensions to be then), and circumstantial interactions (what will I wear with it, what do I expect the other people to wear at that time, and what are wind conditions expected to be).

Men's sizing is awesome, we have a waist, a leg and an upper body. These are the three things we need to recall in order to buy clothes.

Women are mathematicians when it comes to fit, they are exact and use a multitude of factors and equations in the decision. Men are like engineers, nothing exact, round up if you have to. Let me get to the point of this post.

I need jeans. Nice jeans that can be worn to work. I don't know if I am stuck in the past or simply cheap in 2008, but $50 or so should buy a respectable pair of pants. Christa might say otherwise, so I listen and try to comprehend her sometimes.

I go to try on "quality," i.e. designer jeans. I travel to a local retail experience known as Rookwood here in Cincinnati and go to a store called Dr. Mojoe; purveyor of fine jeans. The staff was very helpful in finding me a pretty basic jean as designer jeans go; dark wash, no weird stuff like wiskering, razors, or some man's handwriting on my ass.

I headed into a dressing room with three pairs and pulled them on one leg at a time, like the common man I am. Each pair looked like jeans with maybe a fancy button or two and artistic man-stitching on the back pockets. I am still not sure why they are called designer. So I sit down in a pair to see how they would feel during a day in the cube. AH-HAH, now I know why they are called designer, they are designed for standing-use only. I can put a soup bowl in the gap between the jeans and my back/ass flesh. (I am wearing underwear, don't worry Mom.) I tried another pair and it happened again, I don't know if my ass covers more surface area when seated and thus the material is pulled down, but I don't want a drafty ass crack in the name of fashion. I conferred with the staff and the excellent gentleman said crack was hard to avoid while sitting.

My conclusion: The purpose of designer jeans is to wear them only when standing, so everyone else who cares about designer jeans can look at the artistic man-stitching on your ass and say "Wow, nice jeans. Is that your cell phone and passport in there? I'm up for an adventure."

Diaper Rash Flashback

Currently, we are experiencing our first significant case of diaper rash. We think this may be a part of the aftermath of the ear infection antibiotic. I didn't take a picture of it (the rash) but it is adding a little topography to the normally smooth surface of the E moon. I personally would not want it and certainly not there. We were using Boudreax's Butt Paste, a honey mustard looking formula, but it did not have the power we needed, so we upped the ante and went to Desitin. It goes on think and white, equal parts zinc oxide, Colgate and ranch dressing. That is not the actual secret formula just my attempt to describe the touch and feel. We apply it at each changing and are seeing good progress as we enter the fourth full day using it. Why is this information important?

Well, I was born in the mid-70's, what seems like a while ago and apparently light years ago in terms of infant care. It seems I too had a diaper rash post ear infection, according to my Mom. Who was a good Mom and raised a mostly-balanced individual. But did she soothe my burning buttocks with a creamy salve? No in fact she did not. She told Christa that she laid me down buck-naked, gave me a book to read and proceeded to stick an illuminated light bulb into the crack where the sun is not supposed to shine. She torched away my dirty porthole's ailment with the help of Sylvania and the electric company. And the doctor told her to do it! Was medicine that antiquated just 30-odd years ago? I don't recall leeches either, but I may have blocked that out.

What do you get someone for Mother's Day that says "Thanks for lighting up my ass in order to kill the rash."?

My Mom said, "The bulb was placed near your butt to help dry the rash, not in it."

E Speak: My 1st Birthday

Hello Peeps. One day a couple months ago, my parents threw me a birthday party. Whatever that means. I don't know what Boy and Girl Genius were thinking. Let me take you through the day.

First, what in the hell is this on my head?

"You're the birthday princess."

No, this is a party store tiara that makes me look like a cheap pageant show baby.





















"It's time for cake!"

Alright, things are looking up. Holy Crap, this is homemade organic! I wouldn't feed this to meal worms. I wanted chocolate!!! I wanted chocolate!!! With Fairy sprinkles and Magic icing!!!





















"It's time to open presents!"

Yes, anything to stop this torture. I am very excited about my new collection of live furry animals. Where are they?

"Wow, look at that pretty shirt."

This is neither live nor pretty.















Seriously, this pile of inanimate clothes is my birthday take?





















Let me plug my mouth with this festive, beach-going bear to keep from hurling.















"I think she really liked all her presents."

"Yes, and look at all the new pretty outfits."

Morons, simply morons.

"Emmy are you ready for your big present?"

Finally, the purple furry elephant is here. Wait, a wagon??? You had the entire universe to choose from and you got a wagon. I just wet myself in disappointment. Seriously, I did. Right down here, where the puffy is.















Needless to say this was a letdown. I don't know why my parents were so excited. Might as well go to bed. Wait...Wait...Do I hear running water?





















OH YEAH!!! OH YEAH!!! PUT ME IN!!! PUT ME IN!!!
















This is heaven. I am drunk on pleasure.





















THIS WAS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!! Honestly, compared to the head-squeezing terror slide, followed by orifice-poking of last year, this was heaven. When can I have another?















Smoochies,
E

Not so Golden Anniversary

Months are meaningless. No one cares. They are all unbalanced. Where is the metric system when we really need it?

Three days ago, Christa and I celebrated our Golden Month Anniversary, but no one called, no one sent gifts, I wasn't given the day off. We have been married 50 months and we didn't even get a gold credit card offer in the mail. I have waited three days to see, if maybe, someone would offer up a belated something, even a golden chicken nugget would qualify as the "idea that counts." Sadly, we are just a part of some meaningless statistics on the longevity of marriage.

We are heading into the reflective months of our marriage, where we look back fondly and relive the joy. What I remember most is how our wedding meant wedding planning was now over. You can read my thoughts on that process by following the link on the right. It's awesome!

Other things that are golden but not really that great:

Golden Arches: I acknowledge their consistency in sandwich assembly, but really, outside of pushing the excesses of the night before out of your system, there isn't a lot of greatness here.

Golden Domestic Beers: The American macro-brew had its heyday just before my birth, it may have even helped conceive me, then in some bizarre coincidence it all went downhill. Maybe the economic downturn forced them to ferment in garden hoses. It reminds of when the cat yawns in my face, surprisingly foul.

Golden Showers: Dark golden especially. Generally I find that the less hydrated I am, the longer it resides internally and the more golden the hue. So, the darker the shower the more unsavory the health of the owner of the plumbing. I don't even want to consider other colors or clarity issues.

So I guess a Golden Month Anniversary that no one noticed is better than a Golden Shower that everyone witnessed. I would even prefer a Quarter Pounder and a Miller High Life to a shower of gold. And thankfully those are the only two afore-mentioned golden items that can be ordered at a drive-thru.

Besides, the staffing needs alone of a drive-thru golden shower establishment would be almost cost-prohibitive. How would you classify a medium? Could you charge in advance? Where do you put the warning labels? I promised you money losing business ideas and this is certainly one of them. I don't think I could give away Sprinklers "Golden Showers on the Go" franchises.

To my wife, my one registered follower, it has been a wonderful 50 months and 3 days. You knew when you married me tangential and unsavory paragraphs were a part of the package, but you said "Yes" and I am holding you to it. I love you very much and am not seeing a lot of sponsorship offers just yet. I can only guess as to why.

Grub Monkeys

What are they? Devious. Where are they found? Offices worldwide. Can they be stopped? Not by any ordinary repellent.

Say you are holding a morning meeting and there is a bagel tray. Being a standard business person you want to under-promise and over-deliver, so when you say "bagels at the meeting" you feel the need to include in the order a buffer of bagels, just in case Big Frank shows up grumpy. Now, ultimately the bagel tray is under-consumed over the course of the meeting. As you wrap up by saying, "That completes the agenda for today, I'll summarize the key points and email them out," you turn to find a random co-worker gripping a bagel half and growling. This is a grub monkey.

Grub Monkey - noun - Co-worker who plots and scavenges for office food at the instant it becomes "leftover" (sometime they even sneak under the lid unsupervised).

They use a broad array of tactics. 1) They inquire as to where unopened food trays are being used and at what time. 2) Set motion detectors near main conference room entrances. 3) Tend to circulate for non-business reasons at or near the hour. 4) They angle their chairs towards cube openings to expedite exit when they are surprised by an "extra-food" email. 5) They utilize the grab then sort and discard method ensuring premium intake. 6) They are friendly until you are no longer needed as a decoy.

They have yet to be photographed in the wild, so let me know if you snap one.

Character Introduction

Christa, my wife to be profiled soon, has recommended that I introduce myself on the chance a new and unknown reader stumbles upon this blog. So, here we go.

Physical: Slightly over six feet tall (by maybe an inch).

One day in peaceful Brown County, Indiana, I went to the BMV (Bureau of Motor Vehicles) to renew my license. At the time of renewal, my old license stated my height as 5' 11". The exquisitely-gifted and talented government employee asked if anything had changed within my personal information. I gave her my new address and stated that I had also grown an inch. She spent the next 10 minutes getting frustrated with her computer.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It won't update your height."

"That's odd. I wonder why not?"

"I don't know. It's saying 5' 12" is not valid."

"You could try 6' 0"."

"Well, now that worked. That was strange."

"Yes, indeed."

Honestly, I would have enjoyed being five foot twelve, even four foot twenty-four. There was no reaction at all that led me to believe she considered 5' 12" a non-legitimate height. It was one inch taller than 5' 11". Does anyone ever turn 17 years and 12 months?

Anyway, I have at least 99% of my original head hair at this point. There is additional hair that has shown up over the years that will require an additional post to cover. Blue eyes and pale flesh, like a Welsh accountant.

Intellectual accomplishments:
2nd place in the 3rd grade spelling bee at Ellettsville (Indiana) Elementary. This would be in the 1982-83 school year, just after Small City Spelling Magazine named Ellettsville a hotbed of young spelling talent. Sadly, my final opponent and I each misspelled "barrel" twice in the dramatic showdown. I believe we tried a, i, o, and u for the second vowel to no avail. Of course, the event was hosted in a southern Indiana accent, so it might not be completely our fault.

I do prepare Christa and I's taxes with TurboTax, whose ease of use and guaranteed accurate tabulations would make it an excellent sponsor for this blog as we have not been audited to date. And hopefully TurboTax will keep it that way.

I am also a contributing inventor on a patented near-infrared flame detection algorithm. If you are a pale, five foot twelve, silver medalist speller; you get chicks. But add to it a near-infrared flame detection algorithm patent and you need to take a bug zapper and a cattle prod out in public to hold the swarm at bay. I will have to find and add the link to it because it is a page-tuner.

Foods (i.e. all legitimate sponsors):
Peanut Butter M&M's - I can eat a medium bag in one sitting. My internal systems later protest, but my mouth says "If you stop, the flavor will never come back."

Dr. Pepper, Triscuits, Papa John's Pizza, Milk (Yes, I drink it at dinner all the time. It's the wine of the bovine.)

Ice Cream - I worked at Bresler's at the College Mall in Bloomington, IN during high school. We received one ice cream treat per shift. The store philosophy was that employees would get tired of ice cream and not always partake, opting for the pennies-a-cup soda instead. Wrong. I could handle upwards of 6-7 scoops per 4-hour shift commandeering my co-workers treats in the process. At a macro level the treat policy might work, but I was eating time and a half when I was on the clock. I have developed some restraint, because even though I view a pint as more of a pudding cup, Christa thinks it is good to share.

That is all I have time for today. I have merely scratched the surface, so I will have to add more in coming posts.

E Speak: Winterizing

I am sometimes called a diva, sometimes high maintenance; but I am totally worth it. I have survived one winter already, without even owning shoes. This year I told my parents that if they even think about taking me out for anything holiday, they better find me some more appropriate footwear. Not Dora snow boots from Wal-Mart. Baby needs some Uggs.

"I don't think Uggs that would fit for only one season really constitute an "investment" in your wardrobe. I don't think Clinton and Stacy's advice fully applies to baby clothes and accessories."

Dada, I say this with love, but you are not the person I model myself after in a fashion sense. This is an investment in, not only my fashion future, but in my personal well-being. Feet covered in luscious sheepskin are 42% less likely to enable colds than feet adorned with normal Wal-Marty footwear. And you do remember how many times I woke you up during the Ear Infection of 2008, don't you?

"Well argued; rationale and mostly fact-based reasoning, while attempting to elicit empathy. I am curious as to the source of your research and to know what corporate/government entity sponsored it. Since I appreciate baseless random facts, I am willing to compromise. I will get you some Uggs, but you have to wear them everyday."

Yes! I have successfully manipulated my Dada once again. I want chocolate brown and WANTED THEM YESTERDAY!

"I anticipated this and I have them right here. They are just like Mama's"

Seriously? You really got me Uggs! I am too good at this.

"Yes, try them on."





















You're a bastard.

Love,
E

Misplaced Stuff

Do you ever misplace stuff? Put it one place and not find it there later. Sometimes Christa "cleans" or "reorganizes" around the house, which always results in my things being taken from there "special place." Their "special place" being somewhere I can find them, usually by sight. Christa is much more of a infer the location of things person. She has a connection with the inanimate, often running into them, like the bedpost, at the foot of our bed. Sure it's covered with a blanket and below eye level, but it is always there. Why is it the bed's fault? Would it be better if we moved it everyday?

Unlike the bed, my half-dirty shorts get moved to new and exciting locations like the laundry hamper or back into my shorts drawer. If it was dirty, I would put it in the laundry. I understand that basic concept. But they are half clean; worn, but not ass-nasty. Therefore, they should not go back into the drawer. That is for the clean shorts. So I give them a "special place" on the floor within a two-foot radius of my dresser. Now, to be clear, I don't have an infinite number of half ass-nasty shorts laying around. I go from half- to full-ass to laundry before selecting another pair.

There are a multitude of factors to consider when assessing the ass-nastiness of a given garment, including: description and duration of activity, temperature, and pre-existing conditions of the user and the garment. For example, 8 hours sitting around a climate-controlled house, watching TV, having showered that morning would contribute no more than a half-ass of nastiness, so depending on the initial ass-nastiness, this pair would get the hamper or return to the "special place." Whereas, 30 minutes, riding a vinyl-seated bike on a Midwest summer day to and from a port-a-potty where you reunited last night's curry dinner with the good earth from which it came, could take you from zero to double-ass-nasty, regardless of your bathing record. I could build you a formula, but you can use the nearly as reliable sniff check.

I can't blame Christa for all of the issues I am having with "disappearing" stuff. Honestly, I think the baby does it on her own. I put her down to play with something and then go make a snack and run an errand. By the time get back she is no longer where I left her. How am I supposed to keep her safe if she is moving around unsupervised all the time? Regardless of what Christa says, my shorts have never gotten up and put themselves in the hamper. How come that's where I always find the baby?

Loose Meat Sandwiches

Heaven in a brown bag. Actually, I wrap them in foil, but you get the picture. Personally, I don't know why they are referred to as "loose." Is it a nice way to say "slutty?" Does it put out on a first date?

"I'm having a slutty meat sandwich today," i.e. I'm meeting the "anything for $5" Ham twins for drinks and then it's back to my place.

I guess the same could be said for Easy Cheese. I assume that refers to the convenience and speed of application, but then again it comes out ribbed for his and her pleasure. It's a firm 8 oz. of aerosol cheese, capped with a pressure-sensitive pleasure dispenser. I probably just lost Kraft as a sponsor.

Anyway, the concept of a loose meat sandwich is simple; meat, toppings and condiments between bread. But HOW it can be messed up. The main issue for me is the equitable distribution of ingredients. It is not a "loosely-arranged" meat sandwich. The meat is loose, which I take to mean "detached from the animal," but it should not be haphazardly flung about the sandwich. I should not have to open my mouth more in the middle than at the edges.

An tragic offender on this front was Schlotzsky's deli. They had a franchise in Bloomington, IN for a while, but as much as I cared for their ingredient combinations, they could not construct a well-balanced sandwich to save their lives. There would be a half-inch perimeter of bread surrounding a plum-sized core of finely-shaved meat. That franchise closed, but it appears they are still in business. Maybe they have since brought on a quality control team. Another sponsor ruled out. Penn Station, Subway are you listening?

So, if you want to construct a top notch sandwich, learn how to lay meat. Again, inappropriate sounding, but it is a crucial skill that should be taught in Home Economics, if it still exists in today's curriculum. Which it should. If I were interviewing students for a job, I would pass over the perfect SAT score valedictorian for the C student with a photo portfolio of well-constructed sandwiches. It shows creativity, attention to detail and fiscal responsibility.

Also, if you are going be "health-oriented" and offer sprouts, they should never be more than a quarter inch thick. My sandwich does not need an insulating layer of sod. Ease off Moonbeam.

E Speak: Flowbeed by Mom and Dad

I am an attractive young woman. A natural beauty, no make-up, no products, 3-4 baths a week. Yet, somehow these older people who live with me, keep monkeying with my business. Listen to them.

"Do you think her hair is bothering her?"

"I am not sure she comprehends it that way. But, it would probably bother me."

"Should we cut it?"

"As long as she doesn't look like a charity case. Are you talking just the bangs?"

"Yes, bangs only. If we twist it in the center and then take one snip, it should fall pretty nicely. That's how they did my bangs."

Sounds innocent enough, doesn't it? Let me tell you that I have fine, delicate fairy hair that goes predominantly straight forward. Sure it makes me blinky, but that's just how I grant wishes. So, Mom and Pop genius over here twizzle me up and before I can say "WTF Pops?" he snips me.

NOT HAPPY!!! DO I LOOK HAPPY?

So, now they are discussing whether they did a good job.

"I think it's cute."

"I think we are bordering on baby-fairy mullet."

While I sit and ponder about how big a doofus I must look like. Did you consider my face shape?












I went into the bathroom to see if I could repair my departed innocence and I was so shocked at my appearance I must have blinked three times, because NOW I CAN FLY!!! THE IS THE BEST HAIRCUT I HAVE EVER HAD!!!





















You do realize I have no other haircuts to compare it to, so I am merely making my so-called barbershop-savant parents feel better. Sometimes I'm surprised they know at what end to feed me.

Peace,
E

New Productivity Tool

Here is my first invention/business idea. First, notice my business savvy in calling it a productivity tool. If you are going to get corporate clients you need to make it sound pro-business, plus you need an infomercial-style, hard-hitting value proposition.

Do you know how much work time is lost speaking to your co-workers? Roughly 6 hours a day. I ain't lying.

This is not time spent in budgetary-overview revisionary sub-committee meetings. I am talking about the time spent listening to co-workers who want to fully describe their medical conditions and their affect on bowel movements, or want you to relive every moment of their toy poodle's third place showing at the local "Pets are like little furry people" talent and costume ball.

Would you rather waste six hours listening to them or retain the ability to waste time as you see appropriate? PONDER NO MORE!!!

And what is the one thing that shoos them away? Yes, the client phone call.

"How can I make the client call at the right time?" you ask. "Are you offering Jedi mind trick training?"

Maybe. But let me ask you, what indicates that a client is calling?

Yes, the ringing of the phone. (I assume you got this right.)

"I can't make the phone ring." NOW YOU CAN!!!

Introducing the Ring-Ding-Dithcher 4000. With this simple, space-age device. You, YES YOU, can snatch the timing of important phone calls away from fate and put it in your pocket, or under your desk.

Side Note: Have you ever seen an infomercial that didn't involve something space-age? And doesn't it make you think you are witnessing some part of the future? Even though the Space Age started roughly in the 1960's. Tang is a space-age, fruit-like beverage. And let me tell you, I can only hope something as tasty as Tang gets brought to Earth in the next millennium.

So let me re-phrase, the Ring-Ding-Ditcher is a simple, intergalactic-age device. And installation couldn't be easier. First, transform your phone into your wingman by placing the Recepticon between the phone and the incoming line. Then use one of the three trigger mechanisms to create an incoming call.

1) The floor-mount foot trigger.
2) The under-desk, bank security trigger.
3) The in-pocket key fob trigger.

Then simply say, "Oh, I got to take this." And you will never hear about plowing the back forty on hemorrhoids again. You can even set a delay, so not to tip off your co-workers. It's just that powerful!

If this product existed I would sell it for $29.95 + S&H (somewhere around $100). BUT WAIT! If you could order now I would also include a second Ring-Ding-Ditcher at no extra cost, for those with home offices. And if you could order in the next 2 hours, I would also include a 5-DVD set that includes installation instructions, 10 more infomercials and a code for discounted, downloadable ring tones.

IMAGINE ORDERING TODAY!!!

Current and Future Endorsements

My current endorsements consist of my wife, Christa. I hope to grow this list. My plan to get endorsements; write well-crafted Brain Drippings. These are things that ooze from my head over the course of a day that I sometimes feel are best left unspoken. But since I can write them on a blog with a current readership of one. I shouldn't get into any trouble, just yet.

Why "Brain Drippings"? I am not sure. I considered the general source of my thoughts, my brain, and then the way they seem to appear, as gelatinous poolings under a game bird in the oven. So Brain Drippings it is until better inspiration strikes. But that is the essence of brain drippings.

"Sure, I'd love to take a steam with you Senator."

"What's that puddling underneath your seat?"

"Brain Drippings."

I just realized I have created an alternative meaning and am slightly disgusted. This probably just killed my chance of future endorsements, but I would like to begin listing my preferred suitors.

Future Endorsements: Dr. Pepper.

I am a sack lunch man. Loose meat sandwiches at least four days a week. (Future post to cover proper assembly of loose meat sandwiches.) And what do I serve myself with such sandwiches? The only liquid taste treat worthy: Dr. Pepper. Caffeinated, carbonated, sweet nectar nursed from heaven itself.

But what is up with the 23 flavors? It has one flavor, and that flavor is tasty. I can't even come up with 23 flavors. And they certainly don't list them on the can. Is it essence of rhubarb? Or is it a proprietary combination of artificial flavors; 1 - 17, 35 - 38, with a hint of 56 and a sprinkle of 87. I have one tongue with four quadrants, who are you trying to impress? I have 23 pairs of socks. I don't put it on my name tag. I realize this might not be the best approach to getting a Dr. Pepper endorsement, but it is my lunch time beverage and I only want the best for it.

Notes for the future: Expand on proper construction of loose meat sandwiches, work on list of inventions and bad business ideas for feedback, provide more background on myself, family and surroundings, and try to woo more sponsors.